


A Stupid Cut

by Annehiggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt from the hoodie_time <a href="http://hoodie-time.livejournal.com/464285.html">feverish!Dean comment-fic meme</a>: <i>A cut/laceration Dean sustains while he and Sam are hunting something in the woods gets infected (supernaturally or not). The boys are miles from the trailhead, and Sam has to somehow get his feverish, uncoordinated brother back to civilization before whatever they were hunting decides to hunt them instead. Any pairing is cool, though I prefer seasons 1/2.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stupid Cut

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to Live Journal Sept. 18, 2011 with the following note: I don't write Dean/Sam very often these days, but decided to go with it for this fic. Honestly, it probably works better as gen with only the mildly loving schmoop at the very end moving it into slashy ground. I sort of had an established, but rocky relationship in the back of my mind as I wrote it – which is the vibe I always got from season 1. But if you want gen, just stop before the last scene.

  
**A Stupid Cut**  
By Anne Higgins

They don't think anything about it at first. After all, what's another scrape in the merry life of a Winchester? And this one? Not a big deal at all for brothers who had both, on separate, but oh, so memorable occasions, experienced the joys of holding the other's guts in while someone got help.

So Dean dodging a swipe from a chupacabra's claws in a not so graceful, but effective distraction didn't warrant a blip on the radar. At least not more than a 'fuck, these were my favorite jeans' when he noticed his landing had sliced open a gash in both denim and the flesh beneath it.

Sam shook his head and ejected the spent clip from his Taurus. He slipped in a new one, then tucked the weapon back into the waistband of his own, thankfully still in one piece, jeans. "Bad?" he asked more to be polite than anything else. Cut was oozing, not gushing.

Dean shook his head. "Nah, not much more than a scrape," he answered, then turned his attention back to the rocky terrain surrounding them. Rocky. Almost amusing given they were in an area that pretty much amounted to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. "See any signs of this thing's mate?"

Sam circled around the small clearing while Dean went the other way, but the ground was too hard to find anything. "We even sure there is a mate?" Was a risk asking. Dean had been prickly since Chicago and having to part ways with Dad.

Fortunately, his brother seemed too preoccupied with his ruined jeans and the lack of pretty much anything to go on to take offense. "No. One of the rancher's kids got the impression of two of them, but she was scared out of her wits."

He had the sort of tone that indicated he kind of believed her, but wasn't going to push the point with the whole lot of nothing around them. "What do you want to do?"

"Things are vengeful bitches. We head back. If there's another one, it'll follow."

Great. Sam would never understand how Dean could say things like that then not get Sam's desire to leave all of this crap behind and go back to school. "We should torch this one first."

Dean gave him a sharp 'do you not see me starting on a fire pit?' glare, and Sam winced, because no, he'd been too busy pondering the unfairness of life to notice. "Sorry," he muttered and pitched in. Only took a few minutes before they managed to get the area clear enough for it to be safe to burn the remains. To be certain, and to give any watching mate time to attack, they waited until the fire had died out. Nothing.

Chance of a second one existing dropping as fast as the sun in the horizon, they packed up and started back toward the Impala. "Figure we came seven miles." Hard to say since they'd been running after the creature a good chunk of that. But it was at least five.

"Peachy." Dean glanced at the same 'not all that high in the sky' sun Sam had noticed and sighed. "We might make it before the sun goes down." He sounded more hopeful than anything else.

More concerned by the abrupt drop in temperature the lack of sunlight would cause than things that went bump in the night, they set off at a good clip. On the alert for any sign of pursuit, they'd gone about a third of the distance, when Sam noticed Dean falling behind. And favoring his cut leg.

Sam moved to him. "What's the problem?"

Dean glared and Sam saw him considering automatic denial despite getting caught mid-limp. But they were out in the open, miles from nowhere with a potential hostile on their trail. Not the best time to bullshit a partner. "Leg hurts like a bitch."

Such an admission from his brother was tantamount to a confession of a limb about to fall off, and frowning, Sam squatted down to get a better look at the offending cut. Light was fading, but he could see it. Small, shallow and infected. "What the hell?" he muttered. Sure even a paper cut could get nasty, but this fast?

The leg twisted and Dean hissed, then cursed when he got a look at himself. "Fuck, must have got some goat-demon blood in it."

Yes, that would explain it. "This is going to hurt," he warned, pulling out the small vial of holy water he made a habit of always bringing along. He poured it over the wound, making it sizzle and pop as it burned away the supernatural contamination.

"Son of a bitch," Dean grated through his teeth, his face losing enough color that Sam stood up and gripped his arm. Said a lot that Dean leaned into, instead of pulling away from the supporting touch. Took a full minute for it to stop, and a sheen of sweat dampened Dean's face. "We'd better get moving."

Sam frowned. They'd caught the problem fast enough for Dean's life not to be in danger, but he'd eat his laptop if things weren't going to get worse before they got better. "Maybe we should set up camp for the night."

Almost as if to mock him, a roar sounded back from the direction they'd come. "Awesome," Dean sighed. "Get a move on Sasquatch." Bold talk, given he all but hopped on his good leg as he tried to follow his own order.

Time to play living crutch Sam decided and tugged his brother's arm over his shoulder. Dean opened his mouth, probably to protest, but clamped it shut and leaned against Sam on the next step. Not good, but at least still somewhat mobile. Somewhat being the key word.

Took them twice as long to cover half the distance and he could feel the heat rising in Dean's body. Damnit. His brother seldom got sick, but when he did, high fevers were his middle name, and this one was beginning to make even Sam sweat. And Dean? He'd fallen into one of those silences that spoke volumes about needing every once of energy to simply keep shuffling forward.

The roaring grew closer and the sun was nothing more than a glow at the top of the ridge line. "Come on, Dean," he muttered. Had two miles left, tops. Sam had to give him credit. Dean tried, his pace picking up for a couple of steps, then he went limp.

"Fuck," Sam cursed, straining to keep Dean on his feet.

"Need to leave me, Sammy," he whispered. "Can make it if you run."

Yes, he could, but, "Are you out of your mind?" Seeing no other choice, he scooped Dean up into his arms, but the idiot immediately twisted free, tumbling to the ground with a jarring thud. "What the hell?" he demanded, kneeling by his brother, then gasping when he touched Dean's face. Their clothing had kept Sam from feeling how bad the fever had gotten, but he would have sworn he'd burnt his hand on cooler stoves.

"Can't fight … if carry me," Dean panted. "Go."

"I'm not leaving you!" he hissed, outraged by the very idea.

Dean seemed to think it was funny and sort of giggled. Except it had a bitter edge to it. "First time … everything," he managed, then he passed out.

Doing his best not to freak out, Sam resisted the urge to pick Dean up again. Man was right, Sam couldn't adequately defend them and carry his brother. Needed to make camp. Some sort of defensive position. About two hundred yards away, he spotted a cluster of rocks that didn't have the right sort of structure for even a goat-creature to climb. Give them cover from one angle. Best he was going to get.

He slung Dean over one shoulder, then did the fastest sprint he could to the rocks. As he eased Dean down on the ground, the logistics of their surroundings sank in and he got an idea. Absolutely hated himself for it, but it was their best chance.

*

Dean drifted through dreams of fire and heat, then the feeling something dangerous lurked nearby cut through even his fever and dragged him back to consciousness. So dark. Sun had managed to set while he'd rested his eyes. "Sammy?" he whispered, but heard nothing beyond the clack of hooves on hard rock.

Alone. Sammy had left him. Again. A sob tore through his throat. Gonna die. Like he'd always known he would. Alone. Hand felt so heavy, could hardly move it. Wanted to curl up and simply let the approaching nightmare kill him, but it wouldn't stop with him. Might go on to kill someone else. Might even find Sammy out there in the dark.

Thought gave him strength enough to pull out his Colt and thumb off the safety. "Come … get me, bitch."

Shadows seemed to shimmer, his fever a roar in his ears as well as a fire under his skin. Couldn't trust anything he saw or heard. But one shimmer, one noise came together and he pulled the trigger.

A roar of pain rewarded him and he kept firing, emptying his gun into the thing, then his hand fell to his side as limp and useless as the rotten body a few yards away. Wishing he at least had the strength to crawl away from the stench, Dean settled back against the rock and waited for either the fever or the cold to take him.

*

"Dean!" Sam scrambled down from his perch in the rocks, his heart pounding with fear. Had about killed him to leave Dean's side, but their only chance had been to lure the creature in, then kill it quick and clean. Had seriously hoped Dean would stay out of it for the entire time. Stupid thought.

Talking about Dean Winchester, his big bad hero of a brother, who half-dead with fever had managed to fire before Sam had the right angle. His brother, who obviously believed Sam had left him. Hearing him sob and not daring to answer had nearly broken Sam's heart. "Dean!" His hands closed on his brother's arms and he gave him a small, but desperate shake.

Moonlight was strong enough for him to see the gleam of Dean's eyes opening. "'ammy?"

Thank God. He pulled Dean close to his chest and rocked him.

"Came back?"

"Never left. I was hiding up above, but you were a faster shot."

Flash of teeth indicated a no-doubt pleased smile on Dean's face. "Got it."

"Yeah, you did," he muttered into Dean's hair.

"Cold, Sammy." Dean started shivering, and Sam quickly pulled off a couple of his layers and wrapped them around his brother. This time when he picked him up Dean didn't fight him. Instead he snuggled in close, seeking Sam's warmth despite the heat radiating off his own body.

*

Dean woke up in the relative comfort of the crappy hotel room they currently called home. Felt light-headed and sluggish, sure signs of a hangover from one of his infamous fevers. Awesome.

Took him a couple of seconds but he managed to call up what had happened, right down to his idiotic notion that Sam would abandon his ass in the middle of the freaking mountains. What he was having a lot more trouble figuring out was why his brother was currently camped out in Dean's bed, with his ridiculous ape-arms wrapped snuggly around Dean. "Sammy?"

Lips pressed against his temple. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Why the cuddle time?"

"You thought I'd left you."

Felt another twinge at that. "Know you wouldn't." Except for running away when they were kids and taking off for Stanford and oh, yeah, saying he was ditching Dean's ass yet again once Yellow Eyes was dead, Sam had never given him any reason to doubt him. He scowled at himself. Not fair. Sure the bitch was careless with Dean's heart, but he knew Sam had his back in a fight.

"No, you didn't." Sam hugged him tight enough to make him squeak. If Dean were girly enough to do something like squeak. "Jerk."

"So's your face," Dean muttered.

"Probably, but we're done with the 'brothers with benefits' shit, Dean," he said, pressing another kiss to his temple. "We're lovers, and that means snuggling, cuddling, chick-flick moments and the certain knowledge that I am never, ever leaving you."

Dean wrinkled his nose at the thought even as he might have found a way to snuggle even closer at the same time. "You said-"

"So I'm a jerk, too, and it's time to be clear about all of that because you are never crying because you think I left again."

"I did not-"

"Did, too."

Okay, maybe he did. A little. But he'd had a fever. "Bitch."

"Whatever. In any case this is what's going to happen. We're going to kick that demon's ass, then you and I are going to have one hell of fight after which we're either going back to Stanford or hitting the road, but we are doing it 100 percent together. Clear?"

Dean smiled. "Clear."

end


End file.
